


SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone, Part IV: Betrayals

by PJPaz



Series: SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Ord Mantell, Twi'leks (Star Wars), Tython
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PJPaz/pseuds/PJPaz
Summary: Part Four.  Calief and Nalen Raloch have been stopped... But the Jedi Outpost's respite is brief, as a recon droid returns with evidence that another enemy still plots against them.  On Ord Mantell, smuggler Mira Kahl races against time to recover her stolen ship, and finds herself intersecting with HAVOC Squad's final push against the separatists.
Series: SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821745
Kudos: 2





	1. Scoping Out Trophies

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction series is an attempt to combine all eight of the class stories from EA/Bioware's "Star Wars: The Old Republic" into a single narrative. I am doing this without particular regard for official canon or timelines – My goal is not to create a definitive article, but simply to fashion the best overarching story I can from the parts Bioware already created. Those who have played the game will observe changes from the source material.
> 
> This series directly follows the story/stories of the game itself… So consider that a spoiler warning if you haven’t played it. Though I have endeavored not to directly transcribe anything from Wookiepiedia, this work remains indebted to that site for background lore referenced within the story. Further, much material is directly re-used from "Star Wars: The Old Republic" and its ancillary material. That said, I will not bind myself to either the “correct lore” or the exact characters and events of the game if it conflicts with what I regard as the best direction for my story.
> 
> There won’t be any particular schedule for updates, as this project is being done “for fun” around other work and projects. Each update, when it is posted, will be treated as if it was an “episode” of an ongoing series – When an update appears, it will have its own internal narrative structure, so each update will have a degree of resolution in itself.
> 
> The standard disclaimers apply: All Star Wars material is property of Walt Disney and Lucasfilm. Star Wars: The Old Republic is a property of BioWare and EA. This is all just for fun; no copyright infringement is intended.

**A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY…**

STAR WARS

The Old Republic – Episode Four

BETRAYALS

Chaos grips the world of ORD MANTELL.

Violent separatists, striving to break away

from the GALACTIC REPUBLIC, have

stolen the ZR-57, a bomb powerful enough

to incinerate thousands in a single strike.

HAVOC SQUAD, the pride of the Republic’s

talented Special Forces division, has been

assigned to retrieve the bomb before it is to late.

Sergeant CRESS VA’SHANN, the newest

member of this elite unit, has come into

intelligence showing an enemy arsenal at

the separatist stronghold of MANNETT

POINT – an arsenal that could only have

been supplied by the evil SITH EMPIRE…

“We have to go in!”

Aric Jorgan, the Cathar lieutenant serving as liaison between the local Republic Forces and HAVOC Squad, was pointing insistently at the image frozen on the mission room’s holoprojector. Supplied by Mira Kahl, a smuggler Cress had met the previous morning, the holo showed multiple air cannons, armored vehicles, and even a Walker. Enough hardware to transform the separatists’ terror campaign into a full-scale planetary war.

Captain Harron Tavus, the CO of HAVOC Squad, stroked his mustache as he studied the image. He advanced the projector, looked at the specs of Mannett Point that Mira had also provided. 

“I’m not sure that’s the best course,” he said.

“You want to leave all that in the hands of the separatists?”

Tavus looked annoyed. “You’re missing a ‘sir’ in there, Lieutenant.”

Jorgan realized his lapse in arguing with Tavus, particularly in front of Cress. He snapped to attention.

“Apologies, Captain Tavus,” he said. “I forgot myself.”

Tavus made a dismissive gesture.

“The news is shocking for all of us.” He glanced at Cress. “Looks like you made the right friends, Sergeant.”

He stepped closer to the specs, continuing to study them.

“I have no intention of letting the separatists use that hardware against us,” he said to Jorgan. “But we need to be careful. We still haven’t found the ZR-57. Say we go in with a team, blow that armory sky high. If the bomb isn’t there, the seps will take it so far underground, the next time we see it will be when they use it. Also, there’s your theory about the Empire.”

“The seps didn’t get that from smugglers,” Jorgan insisted.

“I agree. Which is another reason to hold fire. We go in, the Empire will know we’re onto them. I’d rather get proof, trace this op right back to them. Shove their Sith faces in this blatant treaty violation.”

Tavus paced the room, then tapped his wrist communicator.

“Wraith, report.”

He turned to Cress and Jorgan.

“Wraith’s our best infiltrator. We’ll get her past the perimeter, same way the sergeant’s smuggler friend got through. If the seps look like they’re about to move or use any of it, we’ll blast the island right off the map.”

Jorgan grunted, nodded. “Good thinking, sir."

“Now,” Tavus said, “the dead agent’s field box. Has it been decoded?”

“Data conversion should be done any time now.”

“How about you go check on it, Lieutenant?”

“Sir!” Jorgan offered Tavus a salute, which the captain returned.

As soon as he was gone, Tavus grinned at Cress. “Bit of a hard ass, isn’t he?”

Cress stared straight forward. “Lieutenant Jorgan is a dedicated officer,” he said, as if by rote.

“Absolutely, he is. But admit it – He’s a massive pain in the ass.”

Cress couldn’t resist giving a hint of a smile as he agreed.

“Yes, sir.”

***

“Don’t stand there!” the old man barked. “That spot is exclusively reserved for my Gundark friends. You are clearly not a Gundark, your ears are much too small.”

Mira Kahl sighed heavily. Just what she needed: Her contact was a lunatic.

After she had retrieved the information on Skavak, the skunk who had stolen her ship, Mira had found herself with little to do except wait for her old friend Viidu to decode the data. When she learned there was a local job available, she had jumped at the chance to earn a few credits.

The job was to pick up some experimental weapons-grade chemicals from a scientist named Trymbo and deliver them to Fort Garnik. It wasn’t particularly high paying, but it also wasn’t particularly difficult and gave her something to do. She had seen no reason to refuse.

Now she wondered if she had made the right choice.

“Listen?” Trymbo said, cupping a hand to his ear. “Do you smell that? There’s a pot of Alderaanian stew bubbling!”

Mira sighed again. “You’ve inhaled a lot of chemicals, haven’t you?”

“Did my wife tell you that?” the man snapped. “Don’t listen to her, she’s been dead for 20 years!”

The mention of chemicals seemed to wake some minor awareness in whatever part of Trymbo’s brain still functioned, however, and she was finally able to communicate that she was here to pick up the chemical packet.

“Watch out for the Ugnaught assassins in the woods,” he told her. 

There were no woods between here and Fort Garnik. 

“I’ll be careful,” Mira promised.

The return trip was unsurprisingly free of assassins, Ugnaught or otherwise. She delivered her package to a Republic military officer and retrieved her pay. 

Getting paid always improved her mood, and she was almost smiling when she returned to Viidu’s warehouse. 

The smile was knocked off her face when she saw Syreena, Viidu’s much younger girlfriend, being accosted by a leering Zabrak.

“Leave me alone, Bracco!” Syreena told him. “If Viidu hears about this, he’ll – ”

Bracco scoffed. “That blob can’t even protect himself. From what I hear, Rogun the Butcher’s going to punch your fat meal ticket for good.”

Bracco closed in on her, raising a hand to the young woman’s face.

Mira cleared her throat and stepped forwrd. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” she advised. "From what I hear, Rogun’s already got his eye on her.”

Syreena picked up on her cue.

“That’s right, Bracco,” she said. “You don’t want to get on Rogun’s bad side, do you?”

Bracco blanched slightly, backing away as if Syreena had turned into some kind of desert monster.

He recovered his composure quickly, however.

“If Rogun’s already scoping out trophies, it just proves that Viidu’s not long for this world.”

Mira took Syreena by the arm and steered her upstairs, toward Viidu’s office.

“Thank you, Captain,” Syreena whispered. “Bracco’s stupid, but he’s strong. I thought I was in real trouble.”

“Luckily, he bought my bluff.”

“Bluff? It was closer to the truth than I’d like to think about.” She shuddered slightly. “Rogun called earlier to ask about his weapons.” The weapons Skavak had stolen along with Mira’s ship. “I stalled him, but I did not like the way he looked at me. If those weapons don’t turn up…” She shuddered again.

Mira had only been on Ord Mantell a day – a day too long for her tastes – but she had already decided that she quite liked Syreena. She was as smart as she was pretty; and while Mira didn’t delude herself that she stayed with Viidu out of love, she was genuinely good for him.

“I won’t let that happen,” Mira promised. Syreena rewarded her with the warmest of smiles.

Viidu and his right-hand man, Corso Riggs, were poring over the separatist data as the two women entered.

“One of your goons just went after your girl,” Mira announced.

Viidu looked up, a dark expression on his face.

“What happened?” he asked Syreena, who looked a bit flustered. “Who was it?”

“Bracco,” she said hesitantly. “The captain saved me.”

Viidu gave a grateful nod to Mira.

“Word must be getting out we’re in trouble,” he said. “The warehouse boys smell blood in the water.”

“Want me to knuckle down on the staff?” Corso asked. 

The big man sounded a touch too eager, in Mira’s opinion. Viidu must have thought so, as well.

“We’ll just keep an eye,” he said, with a gesture to Corso to take it easy. “Bracco’s an idiot with a big mouth, but he’s a good worker.” Then a dangerous glint came into his eyes. “If he makes another move against me, then we’ll take care it.”

He turned back to Mira, switching the topic. “How was Trymbo?”

“A few freighters short of a convoy,” Mira said bluntly.

Viidu laughed. “I know what you mean. Every time I talk to him, he thinks I’m his great grandfather who crashed into the sun. The man knows his chemicals, though. Any issues?”

Mira shook her head. “Milk run,” she said. She indicated the data. “Where are we on that?”

Viidu and Corso both beamed.

“I have good news, and I have great news,” Viidu announced. “We’ve found Skavak. He won’t even see us coming!”

“He’s scheduled to hand the blasters over to the seps this morning,” Corso said. “The data even gives the coordinates. A hidden separatist base in Mount Avilatan.”

Mira cocked her head at this.

“Isn’t that a volcano?” she asked. The two men nodded. “So the separatists built themselves a… volcano base? Like supervillains in a bad holovid?”

Viidu laughed. “Precisely!” He nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll send this information over to the Republic,” he added. “But first…”

“First we go in,” Corso said. “You and me, Captain.”

Mira frowned. “I don’t need help.”

“I insist,” Viidu replied. “I’m not sending my oldest friend into a separatist stronghold alone.”

Mira eyed Corso skeptically.

“Can you keep your cool?” she asked. “The two of us aren’t fighting our way in. We’ll probably have to pretend to _be_ separatists.”

Corso shrugged. “Figure I can say, ‘Death to the Republic Dogs’ as easy as you can,” he said. “And if things go south, I have Flashy here to help us out.”

He pulled his gun, showing it off to Mira. “She’s a SoroSuub SSK heavy blaster, cut for a quick draw,” he said proudly. “She and Torchy have gotten me out of a few scrapes. Want her to be there when we get her sister back from Skavak.”

Mira nodded slowly. “Her sister, right.” Corso was doing little to convince her that he was going to be an asset.

Viidu sensed this and retook control of the conversation.

“Skavak will be delivering the blasters to a man named Dareg,” he told them. “You need to find Dareg first. Then you just ambush Skavak when he shows up.”

“And then I kill him,” Mira said. “I want the last thing he sees to be my face.”

“Whisper my name in his ear as he dies,” Viidu requested. “I’ll have a bottle of Chandrilan brandy waiting for us to celebrate when you get back. And Mira? Come back in one piece.”

***

Lieutenant Jorgan returned to the mission room, an excited snap in his step. He nodded to Cress, saluted Tavus.

“We have them,” he announced. “Bellis had the coordinates of a separatist stronghold in Mount Avilatan. If the ZR-57 isn’t at Mannett Point, then it has to be there.”

Tavus snapped into action, getting on his communicator and recalling his men from the field.

“Wraith, you stay at Mannett Point,” he ordered. “We need to keep an eye on that hardware. Everyone else, back here on the double. We have an op to plan!”


	2. The Only Jedi in the Galaxy

Canlyn Dessan and her friend, Ashara Zavros, stood nervously before the Jedi Council. 

The two padawans had taken turns testifying to the events at the Great Forge, the shrine where the first Jedi lightsabers had been forged. Nalen Raloch, the Twi’lek hunter whose mind had been turned by the Dark Jedi Calief, had attempted to destroy the Forge. Canlyn had managed to talk him down, and Nalen was now in custody… But when Calief had appeared, she and Ashara had survived only because of the intervention of Master Caecinius.

“Did Master Yuon not ask you to wait for assistance?” Master Orgus asked. He was present in the form of a hologram, having been sent to deal with a crisis on Alderaan.

“She did,” Canlyn affirmed. “Nalen already had a head start on us. It was my judgment that the situation was too urgent to wait.”

“So you substituted your judgment for that of your Master?”

“It wasn’t an order,” Ashara protested. “Lyn didn’t – ”

The Jedi Masters, as one, glared at the young Togruta. Ashara felt the severity of their gazes and, for once, fell silent.

Canlyn bowed her head, replied as if Ashara had not spoken. “I did,” she acknowledged.

“You believed you knew better?” Orgus pressed.

Canlyn hesitated, raised her head. The faces of the Council were unreadable. Grandmaster Satele Shan met her eyes fully, but she could detect neither disappointment nor approval in her gaze.

“In this instance, I did,” she said. 

She thought of elaborating – of pointing out how unhinged Nalen had been. Had she waited, as her Master had wanted, they would not have arrived in time. But the result was irrelevant to Orgus’ charge. She was a padawan. It was not her place to force her own views. It was her place to obey.

“You also forged a lightsaber,” Satele said. “Had Master Yuon granted authorization?”

“No,” Canlyn stated.

“Did The Force call you to the Forge?” Satele asked.

Padawans could make the pilgrimage to The Forge to create their first blades for one of two reasons: As a final test by their Masters to complete their training, or because they felt compelled by The Force to do so.

Neither of these applied to Canlyn. She had created the weapon because of the situation. The only thing that had compelled her was necessity.

“No,” she repeated, feeling as if she was condemning herself with her answer. 

The members of the Council exchanged glances. Satele nodded.

“Thank you for your honesty, Padawan. The Council will deliberate on these events, and call both of you back to render its judgment. Until then, we suggest you meditate upon your recent actions, and upon the Jedi Code.”

It was a dismissal. Ashara all but fled the chamber. Canlyn hesitated. She was already in enough trouble, and it was not her place to speak to the Council without first being spoken to. Still…

“Regardless of the Council’s judgment against me, I would like to speak on behalf of Nalen Raloch,” she said.

The Jedi Masters seemed startled at her breach of decorum.

“He is not an evil man,” Canlyn went on. “In the end, he had no desire to harm anyone.”

Satele raised a hand, forestalling further discussion.

“Nalen is being cared for by our best healers,” she said. “He is far too old and unstable to ever be trained as a Jedi. But when he is whole, he will receive limited training focused on controlling his abilities. Then he will be sent back to Kalikori Village, to his people.”

“If that meets with your approval, Padawan,” Master Orgus said drily.

Canlyn bowed her head again.

“Thank you, Grandmaster,” she said. “Thank you all.”

As the doors to the great chamber slid shut behind her, she closed her eyes, allowing herself the brief luxury of wallowing in her despair. She may not have violated any direct instructions, but she had certainly acted against Master Yuon’s wishes. She had created her lightsaber early, with her training incomplete, and with no compulsion by The Living Force. By her own admission, she had prioritized her judgment over that of her Master, and over that of the Council itself.

She had been taken from Cathar at only three cycles to be trained on Tython. The way of the Jedi was all she knew. Based on the Council’s questions, that path might soon be closed to her. Which left one question, to which she had no answer.

If she wasn’t a Jedi, then who was she?

***

The astromech was designated T7-01, and he was on a mission.

Technically, he had been on a mission for more than a month now. He was one of several reconnaissance droids that had been sent to scout Tython’s wilds, to scout the wilderness and identify hazards. He had orders to return to the Jedi Outpost when his memory banks were full, or to return immediately if he discovered anything requiring the Council’s immediate attention.

His memory banks were not full.

He beeped excitedly to the Jedi Knight guarding the Outpost.

“Whoa, little guy,” the man said in a somewhat condescending tone. T7 beeped impatiently. “No, the crisis is done. We pushed the Flesh Raiders back, and Master Caecinius made short work of the man controlling them.” 

T7 beeped again, several times. The Knight frowned. “Are you certain?” The shrillness of T7’s answering beep made the man wince and rub at his ear.

But when he recovered himself a second later, he reached immediately for his communicator.

***

Caecinius was surprised to be called in front of the Council twice in one morning. He had given a full report about Calief, and what he had seen of the events at The Forge. With Calief dead and the Flesh Raiders under control, surely there was nothing else requiring his attention?

When he arrived at the Council Chamber, an astromech droid stood at the center of the room. Master Kiwiks was absent from the meeting, not even attending holographically, and the remaining Jedi were grim-faced.

“Caecinius,” Satele greeted him. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

He bowed his head. “Grandmaster Shan. Has something happened?”

Satele indicated the droid. “This is T7-01,” she said. “A reconnaissance droid sent out last month to scout the wilderness.”

“Last month?” Caecinius frowned. “Surely, it’s too soon for him to have returned.”

T7 beeped in reply. The droid had a recording of the Flesh Raiders’ allies.

“He played it for us just before we sent for you,” Master Syo told him. “It looks like this matter isn’t quite as settled as we thought.”

Satele nodded to T7, and a holographic image filled the screen. Calief, standing with two Flesh Raiders, speaking with another figure – a hooded figure.

“It is as you said, Master,” Calief told the figure. “The Jedi are weak, corrupted by ritual and superstition. They worship the past with no understanding of it.”

“Is the Rajivari holocron accessible?”

Caecinius stiffened as the hooded figure spoke. That voice… But that was impossible!

“It is utterly unprotected,” Calief sneered. “They do not even comprehend its nature.”

“And the Force Sensitive you observed?”

“The Twi’lek will be heading to the Outpost tomorrow,” Calief confirmed. “In the confusion, it should be a simple matter to pass him the holocron. His own resentment will take care of the rest.”

“Excellent,” the hooded man said. “Tomorrow, our allies will receive their first live training with their new weapons. After your pet destroys the Forge, we will begin the cleansing of the Jedi.”

There was no mistaking the voice. Caecinius did not understand how it could be – But it was unquestionably him.

The recording ended.

“This was taken the day before the assault on the Outpost,” Satele said.

“I would say we owe Padawan Dessan a debt,” Master Syo remarked. “Her persistence in tracking Nalen Raloch saved the Forge – and, it seems, disrupted this man’s plan.”

Master Orgus stared shrewdly at Caecinius.

“The hooded figure in the recording,” Orgus said. “You reacted to him.”

Caecinius nodded.

“His name is Bengel Morr,” he said. “He was a padawan with me. On Coruscant.”

He remembered training at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Bengel, a Nautolan, had been Master Gos’ other padawan. Caecinius recalled him as being studious and dedicated. Not unlike Canlyn Dessan, he had been more comfortable with histories and theory than with combat. 

“He was in the Temple when the Sith attacked,” Caecinius recalled. “That whole wing was wiped out. I barely made it out, even with Master Gos at my side.” He again saw Gos, falling to Darth Thanaton’s blade. Saw Thanaton lowering two lightsabers, in a cross, permanently marking his face. “I was certain he had been killed.”

“Hundreds of Jedi died that day,” Orgus said softly, remembering his own experiences on Coruscant. “We never recovered all the bodies.”

“But Bengel was always gentle,” Caecinius protested.

“Twenty years is a long time,” Satele said. “Hardship changes us, not always for the better.”

She stared right at Caecinius as she spoke those words.

“For him to turn against the Jedi,” Syo said. “He must be stopped.”

Caecinius nodded. For once, Master Syo had gotten to the heart of the matter.

“Where was this recording taken?” he asked.

T7 beeped a response. Coordinates. It was a cave in Flesh Raider territory, about ten kilometers north of Kalikori Village.

***

He was in the process of requisitioning a speeder to take him to the village, when he found himself with unexpected company. Satele Shan walked up, announcing that she would accompany him.

“I received word from Kalikori Village,” she said as they traveled. “Matriarch Sumari is dying. Her daughter, Ranna, has requested my presence.”

Caecinius privately thought that the Twi’leks had been the source of too many recent problems to make any requests of the Order.

Satele seemed able to read his silence, and responded.

“The Twi’leks harbor resentment against us for not doing more to aid them,” she said. “Padawan Dessan believes their resentment is not unjustified.”

“Canlyn Dessan is far too confident in all of her beliefs,” Caecinius said.

“Perhaps. But I also think we have allowed ourselves to grow too insular.”

She fixed him with a look.

“Bengel Morr,” she said. “Tell me about him.”

It was not a comfortable subject.

“Were you close?” she pressed.

“He was like a brother,” Caecinius replied. “The two of us were a little like Canlyn and Ashara. I was always on the field, besting all comers as I dueled them with my practice blade. Master Gos expected that in time I would exceed him. Bengel was always in the library, studying Jedi lore and the mysteries of The Force. Only unlike Canlyn, who’s quite good with a blade, Bengel was hopeless. When I was able to pull him to the field, I sometimes half-expected him to come out holding his sword by the wrong end.”

He pictured his old friend on the training grounds at Coruscant, grinning up at him after receiving another walloping. “Have to admit, I’m getting better,” Bengel had laughed. “Only if you’re trying to make me tired of beating you,” Caecinius had replied, even as he met his friend’s smile.

He set his jaw firmly, focusing on the path to the village.

They attracted hostile stares when they arrived. With their hero, Nalen Raloch, currently in Jedi custody, the Twi’lek villagers were even more resentful of the Order than usual.

Caecinius ignored them as he scanned the area to the north.

“T7’s coordinates lead that way.” He indicated a mountain pass. “I’ll meet you back here.”

“The Council sent Master Kiwiks and her padawan on ahead,” Satele told him. “They will likely be waiting for you.”

They separated, Satele moving toward the large building in the center of the village, Caecinius toward its northern edge.

As he walked, a young Twi’lek man started to pick up a stone to throw at him. His mother stopped him.

“That’s the Jedi swordmaster,” the woman hissed. “He could wipe out this whole village single-handed!”

The woman’s description made Caecinius’ lips draw back in an involuntary grin. His bared teeth lent his green, tattooed face an even fiercer aspect. The villagers began actively backing away, which suited him just fine.

T7’s coordinates led through the mountains, straight into Flesh Raider territory. It did not take long for a raiding party to attack. Not Bengel Morr’s creatures – These were armed not with blasters, but with crude spears and axes. Dispatching them was the work of less than a minute.

He continued to sense the creatures around him as he advanced. They must have observed their comrades' slaughter, because they did not attack. Every so often, though, he heard running from above. He cleared his mind. He had difficulty doing so for meditation, but found it effortless to do so for combat.

As he neared the coordinates and began to climb, he saw a mass of Flesh Raiders gathering above him. Some were armed with spears, but others carried blasters.

A large, painted Flesh Warrior stepped out in front of them and howled at him. Their leader.

“Jeehd-ay!” the chieftain called.

Caecinius froze, stunned. Had that been... speech? Was the monster actually capable of speech?

That was the least of the chieftain’s surprises. The painted Flesh Raider lifted his hands and directed a telekinetic blast.

It was clumsy. Had it come from any other source, Caecinius would have dodged easily. But he was still frozen with shock, and completely unprepared for a Force attack from a Flesh Raider. He was thrown backward and slid half a meter down the mountainside before recovering himself.

“Keel Jeehd-ay!” the chieftain howled.

The Flesh Raiders rushed forward, spears and guns raised, eager for his blood. Had the gun wielders thought to shoot him then and there, he would have been dead – But the call of instinct was too great; they could not stop themselves from physically descending.

Caecinius jumped to his feet, activating his lightsaber. He whirled in a full arc, slicing the creatures surrounding him. The others fell back. He pressed forward.

One creature remembered his blaster and fired. Caecinius raised his blade, deflected the bolt back on the shooter. Then he threw his blade in a wide arc, slicing a line of Flesh Raiders in two. He reached out with his mind, and the blade returned to his hand.

The Flesh Raider chieftain howled again, raising up a stone hammer that was the size of a grown man’s body. He charged.

Caecinius held his ground. The chieftain swung his hammer. He blocked the blow, though it was strong enough to send him backward. Then he leapt into the air, somersaulting over the bulky Flesh Raider, slicing downward with his blade as he passed overhead.

The chieftain stood in place for a moment, seeming bewildered by what had just happened. Then he fell, his girth such that the ground actually shook around him. 

Caecinius’ lightsaber had split his head straight down the middle. Where the body lay, a gap was visible between the left and right halves of his head, the petals of a mountain flower oddly popping through the divide.

Having seen the fall of their leader, the other Flesh Raiders pulled back. Caecinius deactivated his lightsaber, confident that he would remain unmolested.

He proceeded to the cave. He could feel Bengel Morr’s presence. He closed his eyes, again remembering their days at the Temple. Then the chaos of the assault. Bodies everywhere. Bodies with faces he recognized.

“What happened to you, old friend?” he whispered.

“The same thing that happened to all of us.”

Caecinius froze. For an instant, he thought he had imagined the voice.

“Coruscant happened.”

He turned. A hologram flickered before him. The same robed figure as in the holovid, only now the face was uncovered.

Bengel had aged far more than the twenty years that had passed since Caecinius had last seen him. The left half of the face was covered with burns, and his eyes blazed with barely suppressed fury. An expression entirely unlike any he had ever seen on his friend's face - But it was unmistakably Bengel.

“You’re still like lightning with a lightsaber,” Bengel observed. “You slaughtered my people.”

Caecinius gathered himself, pushing his surprise to one side. He forced a grin. 

“Well, they were stupid enough to attack me,” he replied. “Why are you doing this, Bengel? How are you even alive?”

“I survived by becoming strong,” his old friend replied. “The way you always were. As a youth, I valued scholarship over the martial arts. What a fool I was. You were the one who recognized the true nature of things.”

Bengel drew in a breath.

“You killed my apprentice,” he observed. “I can smell his death on you.”

“He was threatening one of my students,” Caecinius replied. “He was going to destroy the Great Forge.”

Bengel laughed derisively.

“The Great Forge! A monument to superstition. For millennia, it was all but forgotten! But after the attack on our Temple, instead of responding to the Sith with force, the Jedi returned to this ruin of a world to lick their wounds and nurse their weakness. And then the ‘Great Forge’ is transformed into a shrine to self-importance!”

Caecinius approached Bengel’s hologram slowly, as if trying to avoid spooking the other man.

“What is the point in this?” he asked. “Arming Flesh Raiders? Turning Nalen Raloch into a weapon against the Jedi? This isn’t you, Bengel – You loved the Jedi!”

“There are no more Jedi!” Bengel snapped. “I am the only Jedi left in the galaxy!” He sneered. “I promise you this, old friend. By the time I am through, every so-called ‘Jedi’ on this planet will be dead!”

“So why not start with me?” Caecinius offered. “Come face me, Bengel. Or are you afraid?”

Bengel laughed. “I have things to do first, old friend. But fear not – I’ll come to you in time.” His lips set firmly. “And when I do, you’ll find that I’m no longer a weakling scholar on a training ground!”

The transmission ended.

As it disappeared, Caecinius became aware of Master Bella Kiwiks and her padawan, Kira Carsen, watching him.

“He seems stable,” Kira remarked.

Caecinius scowled.

“We never found him after Coruscant,” he said. “That means the Empire probably had him as a prisoner. He probably endured years of torture.”

He turned to Master Kiwiks.

“The Flesh Raider chieftain – When I faced him, he spoke. And used The Force. Crudely, but deliberately.”

“Troubling,” she said. “If the Flesh Raiders are being trained in The Force, it won’t be on the side of light.”

“You made short work of them,” Kira observed. “You ever leave survivors?”

“Leaving an enemy alive invites a second attack,” Caecinius replied.

“I must have missed that part of the Jedi Code.”

Master Kiwiks cut them off before they had a chance to start a full argument.

“Master Orgus always said the natives were more advanced than we realized,” she observed. “He was right.”

“And now,” Kira added, “they’re learning to fight _us_.”


	3. Unspoken Synergy

Cress watched glumly in the mission room as Captain Tavus, Fuse, Gearbox, and Needles suited up, preparing to strike the separatist base. He had been told to stay in the mission room with Jorgen, to monitor the op.

“Nothing personal Sergeant,” Tavus had told him. “I know you’re a good soldier. But an op like this, you need a certain unspoken synergy with the people beside you. You’re just too new.”

“I understand, sir.”

Tavus had clasped his soldier. “You’ll catch the next one.”

Now he and Jorgan were left to watch the feed from the squad’s cameras.

The assault started with Fuse. He set up a tiny drone, which looked almost like a child’s toy, that flew into the midst of the perimeter defenses. The separatists stared dumbly at the object as it hovered in midair. Then it exploded – a tremendous blast that belied the drone’s small size.

The defensive line was all but obliterated. The surviving separatists were engulfed in smoke, and many of them found their hair or clothes set ablaze. HAVOC Squad descended into that hell of flame and smoke, of coughing and screaming, firing their blasters to all sides.

The four did not speak – there was no need – nor did they pause in their advance. They moved in an almost circular pattern, each taking a turn at point, each taking a turn guarding the rear and flanks. ]Every time there was a break in the smoke, Fuse threw another device from his belt. The defenders were kept constantly off balance, and never had a clear view of their assailants – who doubtless seemed like an army rather than just four men.

Cress had to admit it; Tavus had been right to leave him behind. He simply couldn’t have fit into that formation. He would have stumbled all over himself trying.

“Give yourself time, kid,” Jorgan grunted at him. “You’ll get there.”

The assault continued seamlessly. The separatists were disorganized, and slow to come to their own defense. They shot wildly into the smoke. Each time a separatist fired, the sound and the flash of the muzzle provided the Republic troops with a new target. The scattered enemy forces kept pulling back, further and further into the base, and the squad kept pressing forward.

Deeper in, the enemy had improvised some defenses, pulling mining carts and crates into a makeshift blockade that doubled as cover. This time, Needles solved the problem. He pulled a glass vial from his belt and tossed it into the air, overtop of the barrier. 

One of the separatists shot the vial. Seconds later, all of them were twitching on the ground, tearing at their throats as foam came from their mouths.

“Masks!” Tavus called. 

The camera showed the four troopers putting on their gas masks before advancing past the collapsed men. At the end of the shaft, they removed the masks. Whatever the substance had been, it apparently dissipated quickly.

They reached a data terminal. Fuse and Gearbox worked together to access it while the other two guarded them. 

“Here it is,” Gearbox announced. “Floor 3, Shaft E. According to this, should be an elevator if we turn left at the next junction.”

They went back into their wheel formation. They were encountering no resistance at this point. Cress guessed the separatists had withdrawn to a higher level, to prepare a stronger defense.

They reached the elevator, which was an open platform.

“This isn’t going to be a fun ride,” Tavus announced.

They pulled some nearby crates onto the elevator to crouch behind. Tavus and Gearbox held their blaster rifles at the ready, while Fuse and Needles each prepped a grenade. All were certain some kind of ambush would be coming.

It did. After the platform cleared the second floor, blaster fire erupted from above. The separatists’ aim was wild, and the crates deflected many of the blaster bolts. But even schoolchildren could not miss every shot at a stationary target rising toward them, and the HAVOC Squad members were left to rely on their combat armor to keep them alive.

Cress heard grunts of pain from the men as they ascended. Needles’ head jerked as a bolt ricocheted from his armor and came very near to his eye.

“Hold fire,” Tavus ordered, his voice steady. “Hold…”

Fuse’s camera feed abruptly stopped as a blaster bolt hit him square in the chest. The young man was knocked back by it, and the grenade he had been clutching fell from his fingers. Tavus kicked the grenade off the platform, while Gearbox pulled Fuse back under cover.

“You all right?” Gearbox asked, shouting as the grenade exploded below them.

Fuse nodded. “Think so.”

Through Gearbox’s camera, Cress could see that Fuse’s face was pale with pain. No wonder - His chest plate had dented inward, and had to be pressing hard on his body. Another hit in that area, and the young man’s death would be a near certainty.

“Let ‘em have it!” Tavus shouted, equal parts eagerness and anger in his voice.

Gearbox and Tavus opened fire on the platform above. At the same time, Needles threw his grenade upward.

Screams from above, and Cress saw separatists falling like rain around the men on the platform. More shots from Gearbox and Tavus. Soon, the area was clear.

“Injury check!” Tavus called.

In the adrenaline rush of battle, it was possible for a soldier to be injured without realizing it. A conscious injury check now could save them from an ill-timed complication later.

Tavus, Needles, and Gearbox were clear of anything but scratches and bruises. But Fuse was starting to have difficulty breathing.

“It really hurts,” he said, a quiet note of surprise in his voice.

“We’ve got to get that armor off,” Tavus said.

Gearbox helped Fuse strip away the chest plate. Through his camera, Cress could see the blood on Fuse’s shirt.

Gearbox and Needles cut away the shirt, then Needles examined the injury below.

“How are you feeling now?” Needles asked.

“Better.”

Needles nodded. “The pressure of the armor. Does it hurt when I do this?”

Cress couldn’t quite see what Needles was doing, but he heard Fuse’s groan.

“Bruised ribs,” Needles said. “You’ll need an examination to make sure nothing’s cracked, but you will recover.”

He jabbed a needle into Fuse’s arm. The young man’s breathing grew steadier.

“He can’t fight like this,” Gearbox told Tavus.

The captain nodded thoughtfully, started to say something in reply.

There was a sudden flash of light. A few cries from the men. Tavus barked an order that Cress couldn’t quite make out.

Then the cameras cut out. The only thing Cress and Jorgan could see on the monitors was static.

***

Jorgan swore. Then swore again, louder.

“Too easy,” he said. “I should have seen – It was all too damn easy!”

The lieutenant typed frantically at the computer terminal.

“It’s not just the cameras,” he said. “We’ve lost life sign trackers, locators, everything!”

Cress had a sick feeling in his stomach. Tavus and the others had been sweeping through that base with textbook professionalism. Then in a single second…

“Send me in, sir,” he said.

Jorgan looked at him, then back at the static on the monitors. He nodded to himself, reaching a decision. Turned back to Cress.

“Suit up, Sergeant. You’re going in!”

***

Mira had been with Corso, at the outskirts of the base’s perimeter, when HAVOC Squad burst through the separatist line.

Her original plan had been to slip in, pretending to be separatists, and work their way gradually through the base. HAVOC’s assault provided an opportunity for a more direct approach.

She signaled to Corso to follow in the squad’s wake, picking off the few survivors Tavus and his men had left behind. When HAVOC stopped at the terminal, she and Corso ducked under cover. They waited for the troopers to move on, then dashed to the computer.

While Corso stood guard, Mira searched for the location of the man Skavak was coming to meet.

“Dareg,” she said aloud, as she keyed in the man’s name.

The base specs placed him on the ground floor. The opposite direction from the elevators, so they would no longer be in HAVOC Squad’s shadow. That was good – It increased the chances of finding Dareg alive.

“With all this confusion, he might not be there,” Corso said, giving voice to her worries. “HAVOC might already have killed him.

“Let’s hope not,” Mira replied briskly. “Or at least that he left something behind that’ll give us another lead.”

She no longer expected Skavak to come. He wouldn’t miss the mess the soldiers had made, nor would he stick around to get shot by them. The most she could hope for was the existence of another clue.

As she followed the specs to Dareg’s quarters, she returned to Plan A: Pretending to be a separatist. The confusion caused by the attack made that easy. The seps were running back and forth, everyone trying to find someone in charge to tell them what was happening, or what they should do about it.

“I heard there were at least twenty of them,” a wide-eyed young man told her. “Storming the upper levels. Should we go after them?”

Any reply of Mira’s was made redundant by the blaster fire they heard down the hall.

“They’re at the elevators,” someone whispered.

There was an explosion that shook the floor. Some people screamed; others wept; more than a few ran toward the exits, in greater fear of being buried alive than of potential Republic forces waiting outside.

The need for pretext had passed. None of the separatists were paying any heed to Mira or Corso. They strode through the mass, found Dareg’s quarters.

The room was empty. 

“He probably ran when the explosions started,” Corso suggested.

Mira chewed on her lower lip. Something didn’t feel right.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” she said. "Let's get out of here."

She wasn’t sure whether she heard or sensed the footsteps behind them. She tensed herself, started to turn. But it was already too late.

She felt a sudden blow at the back of her head. Then all was darkness.


	4. A Friendly Little Chat

Mira woke to the face of a middle-aged fat man. From the smirk on his face, and the presence of guards flanking him, she guessed he must be Dareg.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Captain Mirana Kahl.”

She took stock. She was cuffed, as was Corso beside her. She felt a bit woozy from the head blow, but was fairly sure she was otherwise uninjured. Her wrists were cuffed behind her, but her legs were free. As starting points went, this wasn’t ideal, but it could certainly be a lot worse.

“I’ve had warmer welcomes,” she grunted.

Dareg spat in her face.

“Be glad you aren’t dead, Republic scum!” he shouted. “Skavak warned us you would be coming. He told us you were in league with the oppressors. But we didn’t expect you to announce yourself with a full military onslaught!”

He slapped her, then again.

“Hey!” Corso shouted. “You don’t raise your hand to a lady.”

Mira and Dareg flashed nearly identical looks of disbelief at Corso. Dareg laughed.

“A ‘lady,’ is she?” Then he put his face right next to Corso’s and shouted: “How many of my brothers-in-arms lie dead because of this tool, this criminal vermin, this ‘lady’?”

He turned back to Mira. “You wallow in degradation and sin!”

Mira shrugged as well as her cuffed wrists would allow. “I kind of wish I did,” she admitted. “Most days, I’m too tired and beat up to do much wallowing.”

Dareg leveled his forefinger at her. “Your Republic may have won today, but our revolution is not over yet. Even now, our people are preparing our arsenal at Mannett Point. We will rise again!”

“Great,” Mira sighed. “You’re monologuing. While I’m cuffed. Inside your volcano lair. What’s next? Are you going to bring out a particularly slow-moving laser? Or lock us in a cage with a ravenous tarvix?”

“The tarvix can be arranged!” Dareg snapped.

“No it can’t,” Mira said confidently. “Because there’s a reason Corso and I are still alive. You said it yourself – We’re in league with the Republic. The same Republic that’s taking out your base. We’re your ticket out of here.”

***

Kalikori Village was in mourning.

Caecinius returned with Master Kiwiks and Kira to a procession of grim-faced Twi’leks. They had built up a pyre. A beautiful young Twi’lek woman stood at the front of the procession, watching as four priests carefully placed onto the pyre the body of an old woman, wrapped in a colorful gown. The old matriarch, Caecinius guessed – The one whose death Grandmaster Shan had come to witness. The young woman must be her daughter.

One of the priests passed her a lit torch. She inclined her head gravely, then used the torch to light the pyre.

The straw caught instantly, the wood not long after. The Twi’leks said a prayer. The young woman did not speak it with them, but stood with her back to the flame, almost close enough for the fire to touch her. The heat must have been tremendous, but the woman did not falter.

He and the other Jedi stood respectfully at the back, waiting for the ceremony to end. The Twi’leks remained in place for more than an hour, until the flames began slowly to die.

A priest stepped forward, holding a circlet of intricately woven leaves and sprigs. “Matriarch Sumari has passed beyond,” she declared. “Let us give thanks for her wise reign. Now let us bow our heads in prayer for her successor, Matriarch Ranna Tao’ven.”

Ranna bowed her head. The priest positioned the circlet around her lekku, then kissed her forehead. Ranna walked slowly back, along the line of her people. Each man, woman, and child took a turn bowing or kneeling, many of them kissing her fingers.

She eventually reached the Jedi, bowed to them.

“Thank you for paying respects to my mother,” she said. “Grandmaster Satele was a great comfort to her at the end. Before she passed, she told her ‘There is no death, there is only The Force.’ That our essence lives on when we die. I hope that’s true. And I hope we can establish better relations moving forward.”

“We hope that as well,” Master Kiwiks said, returning her bow. “But this is not the time to speak of such things.”

“No,” Ranna agreed sadly. “But let’s make the time soon. We’ve held off properly speaking for far too long.”

She moved on, slowly winding her way toward the matriarch’s house – Now hers, as part of her new burden.

“We must go,” Master Kiwiks told Caecinius. “Kira and I have been given an assignment to Coruscant.”

“Coruscant?” Caecinius was surprised. 

“Grandmaster Shan believes that our current crisis – Bengel Morr, the Flesh Raiders, Calief – that it is part of a greater pattern. All of us have sensed disturbances in The Force recently. Haven’t you?”

When Caecinius closed his eyes at night, and sometimes even during the day, he saw the flames of the Jedi Temple. Master Gos, falling to the Sith. The bodies of his fellow students and instructors. A new disturbance would barely register alongside that daily burden.

“My senses are not well attuned in that area,” he said. “So why Coruscant?”

“It is a special mission,” Master Kiwiks replied.

“Let’s just say she thinks Coruscant might be the source of our problems,” Kira added, then fell silent as her Master fixed her with a glare.

They would say no more – and in the midst of the Twi’lek village, Caecinius supposed they had already said more than they should have. He bowed to Master Kiwiks, wished her luck. Then he settled next to the speeder to wait for Grandmaster Shan. She would doubtless have some private words of comfort for the new matriarch; and knowing her, that could take a while.

***

Cress, in full body armor, led a group of twenty soldiers into the separatist base. Tavus’ attack had been all speed and chaos, counting on the element of surprise to minimize resistance. That had been more than an hour ago, however, and any chance of surprise had long passed. 

Republic troops had taken up positions outside the separatist stronghold even before Tavus had gone in. As soon as the operation went south, Jorgan’s first order had been to reinforce that position. “No one gets out of there unless it’s in restraints or a bodybag!” he had barked to the field commander.

A few dozen separatists had emerged since then. A trickle at first, then a rush. All with hands held high, desperate to surrender. If Tavus’s charge proved to be his last act, then at least it appeared to have shut down the separatists as a serious threat.

Cress had no illusions that everyone had surrendered, however. There would be resistance. He had his men inspect every corner, progressing only when a shaft or a corridor had been declared clear. It was slow work, particularly with all the dead end shafts that extended from the main hall. But the last thing they needed was an enemy flanking them, or coming in from behind.

“Don’t shoot!” a man’s voice called.

A group of armed separatists emerged from a cave, holding two hostages as shields before them. Cress recognized them immediately.

Mira Kahl and her beefy local contact. What was his name. Conrad something?

“Hi, Cress!” Mira called. “We still on for that drink?”

The drink she had declined because Cress wasn’t “her type.” It was a signal – To be ready for whatever deception she was about to run.

A fat separatist held onto Mira, one hand on her waist, the other clutching a handful of her hair. 

“I suppose this is your boyfriend,” he hissed at her. “Not just a jackbooted Republic thug, but an _alien_.”

“Dareg, my friend, you haven’t lived until you’ve been with a Twi’lek,” Mira replied. “The feeling when one of their lekku tickles your – ”

“Silence!” the fat man hollered, yanking on her hair.

Mira winced. “Squeamish?” she asked. She glanced at Cress. “I think Dareg is a bit squeamish.”

Cress gestured to his men to lower their weapons. He continued to keep his pointed at the separatist guards, making sure they understood that if they fired, he would take one of them out immediately.

“Dareg,” Jorgan’s voice sounded in his earpiece, along with the clicks of the keyboard as he searched for the name. “A minor sep leader. Small fry, but he might have info. about what happened upstairs.”

“What do you want?” Cress called.

Dareg laughed. “What do I want?” he exclaimed. “I want Ord Mantell free of its chains, free to trade as we please, to live as we please. Free of taxes to a corrupt Chancellor and a degenerate Senate.”

Mira rolled her eyes.

“He’s big on the corrupt degenerates,” she told Cress. “What he wants is to get out alive. He seems to think the seps will rally with their stash at Mannett Point.”

Jorgan’s voice again. “Wraith should have that covered, but she’s radio silent.”

“I say send a couple squads in, hit them hard and hot.” Cress didn’t care that Dareg could hear. “The seps are finished. Let’s not risk leaving the survivors with supplies to come back.”

Dareg looked wildly at Cress. “Who are you talking to?” he howled. “What’s going on?”

Cress glanced at the man like he was a particularly troublesome insect.

“I’m talking to my lieutenant,” he said. “We’ve had eyes on Mannett Point since yesterday. Now we’re going in, and we’re breaking all your toys.”

Dareg stared incredulously. 

Mira chose that moment to stomp down on his foot as hard as she could. “Down, Corso!” she shouted.

Cress’ soldiers brought up their guns and fired. In seconds, the armed separatists were dead, shot a couple of dozen times each.

Dareg stood frozen, eyes wide. From the smell, it was clear that he had soiled himself.

Mira’s legs circled the man’s throat, bringing him to the ground. “Where is Skavak?” she shouted. “Where’s my ship?”

“Gone!” Dareg gasped. “Skavak left hours ago!”

“Where are the guns?” She flexed her leg, cutting off his airway.

“There are no guns!” he croaked. “Skavak showed up to deliver them, but it was a trick. He pretended to be on our side to get his hands on some rusty, antique droid!”

“A droid?” Mira so surprised, she almost forgot to keep hold of the fat man.

“Just a worthless pile of scrap,” he rasped. “Skavak grabbed it like some big treasure. Then a bunch of Imperials showed up and held us at gunpoint while he just waltzed out of here.”

_Imperials!_ Cress felt a surge of energy in his body. They had suspected as much after seeing the equipment at Mannett Point. But this was confirmation. More than that. His suit cam had recorded the exchange – And that made it evidence.

“Where did Skavak go?” Mira demanded.

“I don’t know, but I can guess who does.” Dareg grinned. “He has a nice piece at Fort Garnik. Not alien scum, a proper human woman. Syreena.”

Mira felt herself flush with anger. She flexed her leg, full strength, cutting off the man’s airway.

“Liar!” she shouted. “You filthy, disgusting liar!”

Cress nodded to two troopers, who pulled Mira off the prisoner. Dareg rubbed his throat, sneering at her.

“Did I touch a nerve?” Dareg gloated. “Skavak used to brag that he had her completely wrapped around his finger. She’d do anything for him, he could get her to bark like a dog if he wanted her to. Literally – He showed us a holovid, and laughed.”

Mira absorbed this.

“Get Corso out of these restraints,” she told Cress.

“I can’t let you kill him. He has information we need.”

“Don’t worry, I’m done with this worm. But if what he says is true, my friend is in danger. Please let me save him.”

Cress nodded to his men, who began cutting Mira and Corso free of their cuffs.

He walked up to Dareg, knelt before the gasping prisoner.

“Now,” he said. “You and I are going to have a friendly little chat about Imperials. About a bomb I’m looking for. And about what we’re going to find on the third floor.”

He laid a hand gently on Dareg’s sore throat. He applied no pressure – But with that touch and a look, he made clear that if the man didn’t cooperate, then Mira’s treatment would soon be a pleasant memory.


	5. Everything a Warrior Should Be

Caecinius waited by his speeder for Grandmaster Shan to emerge from the new Matriarch’s home. As he waited, he closed his eyes and attempted to meditate, to make his mind blank. To drain it first of thought, then of emotion.

Bengel Morr’s face appeared in his mind. The burned Bengel, sneering at him through the holo projector. _“I am the only Jedi left in the galaxy!”_ The young Bengel, grinning up at him from the practice floor. _“Have to admit, I’m getting better.”_ The bodies in the Temple. Master Gos, crumpling to the floor.

His eyes opened. _Useless_. 

It had been long enough. He rose, strode to the Matriarch’s house. He did not bother to knock before entering.

Ranna Tao’Ven was sitting at a desk, speaking over her holocommunicator to another Twi’lek. She glanced up in surprise as Caecinius entered.

“We will speak more of this tomorrow,” she said, ending the call.

She smiled at Caecinius. “I did not expect to see you again so soon,” she said. Caecinius saw the sadness in her eyes, and remembered that the young woman had just lost her mother.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he said. “The Grandmaster is needed back at the Jedi Temple.”

Ranna looked confused. “Surely she’s there already. She left Kalikori Village immediately after my mother passed.”

Caecinius frowned. While Satele might have left had urgent matters come up, he was certain that he would have been informed. In the absence of something of importance, she would never have left the village before the matriarch’s funeral.

Ranna stood, stepped toward him.

“You look exhausted,” she said. “Why don’t you stay a while? I can make us some tea.”

She spoke sympathetically, with the right mix of grief and compassion in her face. But there was something off. The slightest catch in her voice.

Caecinius felt a presence in the house. A darkness, coming from an alcove in back. He wheeled toward it, his lightsaber springing into his hand.

Harsh, gross laughter. A figure emerged from the shadows. A Flesh Raider.

“Jeehd-ay!” The Flesh Raider leered at him. “Jeehd-ay fool!”

He stretched out his hand, directing a Force blast at Caecinius. This time, however, the Jedi was not surprised. His will easily enveloped the blast. He turned it back on the Flesh Raider, who was thrown against the wall.

He pressed in, holding his lightsaber to the creature’s throat.

“Where is Grandmaster Shan?” he demanded.

“Let him go!” Ranna’s voice. Shaking with fear, but firm in spite of that.

Caecinius pulled back, glanced at her. The young Twi’lek woman held a blaster, pointed directly at him. Behind him, the Flesh Raider laughed.

“Bengel Morr came to see me last night,” Ranna said. “He promised to end the Flesh Raider attacks if we turned over the Jedi Grandmaster. If I refused, he would kill us all.”

Caecinius stood, processing her words. He had been in the village for hours, most of that time in the company of Bella Kiwiks and Kira Carsen. Ranna could not have gotten Satele out past three Jedi. The abduction had to have happened earlier – while he was on his way to the cave.

When Bengel Morr had taunted him, he had already had Satele Shan in his grasp.

He glared at Ranna. “You idiot,” he snapped. “Bengel Morr is a madman. When he’s done using you, he’ll kill you and your people. The Jedi were your only hope – ”

“The Jedi?” Ranna sounded like she couldn’t believe what she heard. “My mother appealed to the Jedi over and over. Occasionally, you’d send a couple students to help rebuild after an attack, but never help with our defenses. Nalen Raloch held the Flesh Raiders at bay. But you Jedi took him, too! We’re supposed to turn to you again? For what – sympathy and proverbs as we die around you?”

He could feel the Flesh Raider behind him. The creature was rising to all fours, preparing to attack.

Caecinius kept his eyes on Ranna as he jabbed backward with his lightsaber. The creature died instantly. Ranna gasped, but she did not pull the trigger.

He stepped toward her. “You gave the Jedi Grandmaster to the enemy,” he said grimly.

She backpedaled, fired. He swatted the bolt away.

“My people will have heard that!” she said.

He could already hear Twi’leks gathering outside, moving toward the door. He held his blade up in response, taking up a combat position.

Ranna’s face blanched. She ran to the door, opened it.

“I’m fine!” she called. She forced the fear out of her voice. “Just an accident. Please return to your prayers.”

She hesitated in the doorway a fraction of a second, taking in her people, the village. Her mind doubtless flirting with the idea of running.

She drew back in, closing the door and locking it. She turned to Caecinius, trying to adopt a brave posture.

“I turned your Grandmaster over to Bengel Morr,” she said. She spoke slowly, clearly enunciating each word, as she walked toward Caecinius. “Not my people – Just me.”

“Where did he take her?” He leveled his blade at her.

The young woman swallowed thickly, but held his gaze.

“He said something about a Forge,” she said. “He said he had unfinished business there.”

The Great Forge. Where Canlyn had stopped Nalen at dawn. Where he had killed Calief. _Bengel is going there to finish the job!_

Ranna stood in place, waiting for his judgment. His hand trembled as it held the lightsaber. He wanted to strike her down. There was nothing she could do to stop him, and she deserved to die. She even looked resigned to her fate.

He thought of Satele Shan, coming here to comfort the girl’s dying mother without a second’s hesitation. He thought of Canlyn, pleading for the welfare of Nalen, a man who had done everything to make himself her enemy. He remembered Satele, in the meditation garden, bluntly telling him, _“You struggle with your anger.”_ His defensive response, that his anger was under control.

He deactivated the lightsaber, sheathed the blade.

Ranna released a breath, her body slumping.

Caecinius slapped her across the face. A hard slap, so sudden and sharp that it sent her sprawling to the floor.

She held a hand to her burning cheek. She looked up at him.

“I know you don’t believe this,” she said. “But I hope you find her alive.”

Caecinius hoped so, too. He wasn’t sure what he would do if Satele Shan was dead - but he was certain that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from doing it.

***

Once Cress had firmly laid out the situation for him, Dareg couldn’t talk fast enough. He admitted that the Empire had been supplying the separatists for months. The Empire had suggested building the base in Mount Avilatan, and had supplied engineers to make the work go quickly. He didn’t know what the Empire’s long-term plans were – But it was clear to Cress that the Imperials were the ones truly in charge of this would-be revolution.

“A gross violation of the Treaty of Coruscant,” Jorgan observed over the earpiece. "We now have the proof Captain Tavus wanted."

“Yeah,” Cress drawled. “I’m sure the Senate will get right on that.” They might even create an exploratory committee to investigate the possibility of writing the Empire a sternly-worded letter.

Dareg confirmed that most of the separatists who were still alive had surrendered by this point. The third floor, however, was occupied by Imperials. Anyone not an Imperial officer was allowed only by direct invitation. The separatists had quickly learned not to challenge that edict.

“HAVOC thought they were only dealing with seps,” Jorgan said. “They walked right into an Imperial ambush.”

Cress did not want to ascend in the same elevator that had brought Tavus straight to the ambush. Dareg, eager to curry favor, showed him to a maintenance ladder that led up to every floor. He admitted that there were cameras and proximity alarms.

“We can jam those,” Jorgan announced confidently.

Cress asked for volunteers from the Republic troops. He leveled with them - This would be a hazardous mission. Unlike the patriotic holovids, only a handful of men actually stepped forward - but it was enough.

“You men are going up the elevator,” he said. “The same one Captain Tavus used. Get under as much cover as you can. Stay alive. Once you get to the third floor, secure a position and make noise. Kill anything that moves. With any luck, the Imps will be so busy focusing on you, they won’t notice when the cameras go down. Worst case, we still split their forces.”

He picked four men to accompany him up the maintenance ladder. They waited until the elevator began to rise, until they heard the sound of blaster fire from the volunteers.

“Cameras are down!” Jorgan called. “Move, Sergeant!”

Cress and his men climbed the ladder as quickly as they could, burst out onto the third floor. Just in time – The security failure had been noted, and a group of armored Imperials were heading toward them. Cress threw an incendiary at them while his men opened fire. The Imps fell – but if Cress had been 30 seconds slower, the enemy would have caught them on the ladder and dispatched them easily.

Cress wanted to go in search of Tavus and the others, but Jorgan reminded him of their first priority: Securing the ZR-57. 

“Our hold on this floor is tenuous,” Jorgan said, “and I’ll bet the Imps built a launch bay into that floor. So here’s the plan. We have the deactivation codes for the bomb. We use the kill codes, fry the ZR-57’s internal systems. Leave the Imps with a giant radioactive paperweight.”

The plan meant locating either the bomb or a communications terminal. Either way, Cress and his men were left to sweep the floor room by room. He again had them move methodically. Every room they came to, they would throw a grenade inside first. Then they would secure the room and search. Then move on to the next one.

They found the floor’s communications center in a central chamber. Imperial troops had a tight guard on the room, and fired as soon as they saw the Republic forces approaching. One of Cress’ men cried out as an Imperial blaster found its target.

This time, unlike on the freighter, Cress had smoke grenades. He threw two into the room, waited until the visibility was close to zero. He indicated to his men to guard the door. He fired three blind blaster bolts into the mist, then threw an incendiary in. In the smoke, the Imperials did not see it.

The grenade exploded. Cries from in the room. Cress fired into the smoke, then dove inside.

More blaster fire, but it was still blind, and the bolts went over Cress’ head. He crawled on his belly toward the communications equipment.

The smoke was clearing, and he saw two Imperials, crouched near the wall, blasters focused on the door. They were not looking in Cress’ direction. He raised his rifle and dispatched them.

He turned to the equipment, feeding the kill codes in as Jorgan guided him. He pressed the “transmit” button.

He heard Jorgan applaud. “Good work, sergeant!” the lieutenant said. “The bomb is dead.”

Which left Cress free to do what all his instincts cried out for: Find the other members of HAVOC Squad – alive or dead.

***

Jorgan was right about the launch bay. Cress found it not long after transmitting the deactivation codes.

Locating it was not a challenge. As his team progressed deeper in, he noticed that engagements with Imperials were growing less frequent, and that the enemy soldiers were more focused on holding Cress back than in actually wiping out his team. A delaying act, covering a strategic withdrawal. 

Eventually, the corridor opened up to a large hangar, filled with Imperial ships, all of which were being frantically loaded for takeoff. Cress ignored the lines of troops being pressed onto transports, or the technicians loading equipment. His eyes were drawn to a freighter, near the rear.

Tavus, Gearbox, Fuse, and Needles sat glumly by the freighter, Imperial guards standing over them. 

“I’ve ordered more troops to the Third Floor,” Jorgan informed him. “They’ll be at your position in less than ten minutes.”

The guards made a motion. At Tavus’ lead, the members of HAVOC Squad rose and walked toward the ship.

“They’ll be on their way to Imperial space in ten minutes,” Cress said. “We’re going in.”

He had one last smoke grenade left. He lobbed it as hard as he could, and it landed right at Tavus’s feet. The captain gave a startled look. His eyes met Cress, who gave him a quick nod.

Tavus nodded to Gearbox, then to Fuse. Then the grenade went off, and the entire group was hidden behind thick smoke.

Cress could hear signs of a struggle behind the smoke. HAVOC had gone to work on their captors. Cress gave the order to change to tranquilizer rounds; he was not about to risk killing the very men he had come to rescue. Then he and his men charged into the smoke to engage.

With Imperials surrounding them, an extended struggle would be suicide. Cress focused on finding the members of HAVOC squad in the confusion. Once they had a soldier, they withdrew to the entrance – a position that could be held against the Imperials until backup arrived. 

Cress got hold of Gearbox, pushed the big man back.

“You’re something else, kid,” Gearbox told him. 

A blaster bolt ricocheted off Cress’ helmet. His ears rang, and he yanked the helmet away. He tossed it toward the smoke, pulled Gearbox the rest of the way to the entrance.

The full Imperial force had engaged now. All Cress and his men could do was crouch behind cover and wait.

“I hope you’ve got a way out of here,” Tavus noted. He had been pulled out by another trooper. Fuse and Needles had also been recovered, though Fuse had been tranq’d. Given the young man’s earlier injuries, that was probably just as well.

“Reinforcements are on the way,” Cress reported. “They’ll engage the main force while we get Fuse out. Once he’s safe, the rest of us will join in the fun.”

Tavus grinned. “Good work, Sergeant. You’re everything a warrior should be.”

So far, the rescue had gone like clockwork. Jorgan told Cress that reinforcements were only a few minutes away. "Just keep behind cover, stay alive. Enough men are coming to lock down this entire hangar."

Cress relayed the information to Tavus. They crouched down, firing intermittently to keep the Imperials back. 

That's when Cress heard the blaster bolts from behind him. Cries as his men fell. Some of them tried to turn, but the shots were perfectly aimed. One shot for each body.

Cress felt the muzzle of a blaster at the back of his head. 

“Don’t move, Poster Boy.” 

A woman’s voice. A familiar voice.

“Wraith!” Captain Tavus stared in shock. 

Then he did something entirely unexpected. He grinned at her. “What the hell took you so long?”


	6. "The Weapon I Came to Forge"

Cress felt his entire world shift beneath him. What was happening was impossible. He willed the nightmare to end, for Tavus to reveal some extra ruse that was at play.

But the reality of the situation persisted.

“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Tavus said as he disarmed him. “I tried to keep you back at Fort Garnik. But we were just too slow getting out.”

“You’re a traitor,” Cress said. The words were ash in his mouth, an acknowledgement of an awful truth.

“From a certain point of view,” Tavus acknowledged. “But my men and I have been true to what we are. It’s the Republic that has betrayed us, tossed us aside. Remember your pirate intercept – You lost good men, who would still be alive if the Senate hadn’t stripped your budget, taken away the supplies you needed to do the job.”

“And you think things are better with the Empire?”

“The Empire respects warriors,” Tavus said confidently. “The truth is, whatever they may say, the Republic Senate doesn’t believe it can win a war against the Empire. People like you and me? We’re a threat to them. Every HAVOC Squad victory fires up people’s imaginations, fills them with pride. So the Senate takes away just a little more before sending us back in. Strips away a position here, equipment there – All to make sure that we stop winning.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Cress asked. “You sound like a conspiracy theorist hiding in a basement.”

“The Republic abandoned us,” Tavus replied. “Look up Ando Prime. Wait, you can’t – Because only about six people in the galaxy have the clearance. The Republic abandoned us on Ando Prime. Left us to die.”

Tavus had not confiscated his earpiece. Jorgan's voice came through now. “Keep him talking, Sergeant. Backup will be there any second.”

Tavus patted Cress’ shoulder, a genuinely warm gesture. “I won’t try to persuade you,” he said sadly. “I’m glad you still have your ideals intact.”

Tavus looked toward Wraith, gave a slight nod.

Cress tossed his head back, glad now that he had discarded his helmet. His lekku swung backward like weights, knocking Wraith off her feet.

He rolled, grabbing Wraith’s blaster rifle from the ground before snapping to a standing position. The HAVOC Squad members were already running for the Imperial line. Cress drew a bead on Tavus, fired.

The captain must have sensed the movement, because he turned at the last second. The bolt didn’t miss entirely, though. It seared across his cheek, making him cry out. Wraith and Gearbox grabbed Tavus and pulled him the last few steps to the shuttle.

The reinforcements finally arrived, engaging the Imperials. The Imperials focused on holding them back as their own transports lifted off. They were no motley gang of separatists. They maintained discipline under fire , pulling steadily back to close any gaps in their lines. By the time the Republic broke through, the last transport was away.

Republic troopers searched for survivors among the Imperials. They took prisoners where they found them, secured dropped equipment or weapons where they found those. Cress walked toward the edge of the launch bay, staring up at the sky of Ord Mantell. The same sky he had looked at that morning – Only now, nothing was the same.

Jorgan’s voice sounded again. The lieutenant sounded as numb and exhausted as Cress felt.

“All that’s left here is clean-up, Sergeant,” Jorgan said. “Return to Fort Garnik for debrief. It’s time to come home.”

***

Tython’s sun was setting as Caecinius arrived at The Great Forge. He appreciated the symmetry. The first confrontation at The Forge had occurred not long after dawn. The second would take place at dusk.

He found Bengel Morr at the foot of the shrine. Satele Shan lay on the ground, two Flesh Raiders standing over her. Caecinius anxiously probed the Grandmaster with his senses.

She was alive. 

“I sensed your approach,” Bengel told him. “Your emotions betrayed you. So much anger. So much fear. Concern for this one.” His foot nudged Satele dismissively. “So much weakness.”

Caecinius searched the Nautalon’s face, trying to find any glimmer of the young man he remembered. It was as if a stranger stood before him.

“I can’t let you hurt her, Bengel,” he said. “Give up this madness.”

“No!” Bengel snarled. “The Force guided me here for justice. I will restore what the Jedi lost!” He gestured to the Flesh Raiders. They picked Satele off the ground like a doll, holding her upright between them. She started to stir, but she was too dazed to fight.

“What happened to you, Bengel?” he demanded.

Bengel laughed bitterly. “I already told you, old friend. Coruscant. You were there. You saw what I saw – Our greatest, cut down like grass. Our Temple burned like a pyre. I was one of several students taken by the Empire – Tortured, experimented on. So many padawans died screaming. But I was strong. I escaped, returned to Republic space. And what did I find?”

He pointed to Satele, who groggily returned his gaze.

“Surrender!” Bengel shouted. “The Sith exterminated us, and what did the Republic do? What did the Council do? They gave up!”

He screamed the words directly into Satele’s face.

“Is that why you brought Grandmaster Shan here?” Caecinius demanded. “Revenge? She didn’t sign the Treaty. She specifically argued against the Treaty!”

“And then did nothing!” Bengel’s lips now frothed with spittle. His emotions swung wildly, completely uncontrolled. “Under her so-called ‘leadership,’ the Jedi have turned their faces from the galaxy!” Satele was fully awake now, and Bengel sneered directly at her. “What are the Jedi doing, Grandmaster? What is your great plan? To ‘Reconnect with our origins?’ Just fancy words for hiding!”

He turned back to Caecinius. He seemed to calm instantly.

“But I have come to put things right,” he said. “Right here, at the Forge. At the shrine this woman created. We will sacrifice the weak to make the Order strong again. We will be reborn from ashes!”

Caecinius activated his lightsaber. “You know I can’t let that happen,” he said.

Bengel grinned. “Then let us put each other to the test, old friend.”

They came together, Caecinius' blue lightsaber connecting with Bengel’s bright yellow. The years had made the Nautolan strong and, however unstable his emotions were, his form was disciplined. He pushed Caecinius back with a series of short slashes.

“You were always the stronger on the practice field,” Bengel sneered. “But the weakling you remember was burned away long ago. Pain has made me strong. All those teachings about emotions? They are nonsense. Rage fuels me, and grants me power.”

More slashes. Still controlled, but rising in intensity. Ceacinius was pushed back further, toward the edge of the summit path. He would soon be forced over the edge.

He tried to push Bengel back with his own assault. Bengel thrust his blade toward his chest, and Caecinius had to backpedal to avoid the blow. 

He was now at the cliff. One more step, and this duel would be over.

“Disappointing,” Bengel said. “The Jedi’s Great Swordmaster. You have become as weak as any of them.”

_“Keep moving_ , _”_ Caecinius had told his students. _“Move or die.”_

He took his own advice, pivoting away and to the side. Bengel was surprised by the sudden motion. The Nautolan almost lost his footing, but recovered rapidly, fending off Caecinius’ attempted assault.

“Nicely done,” he congratulated his old friend. “But your attacks lack commitment. Let’s give you some, shall we?”

Bengel called to the Flesh Raiders; “If he does not defeat me in the next 60 seconds, you have my permission to tear that woman’s throat out.” The creatures responded with their horrible, guttural laugh.

Caecinius felt his anger build. This being was not the young man who had been his friend. He was an enemy, bent on destroying everything he valued. In all but name, he was a Sith.

He felt he was back at the Jedi Temple. Master Gos was dueling the Sith Lord Thanaton. Was losing. Thanaton was readying his death blow.

_Not this time._

Caecinius directed a Force burst at the Flesh Raiders. They were knocked backward. Satele did not waste the opportunity, using The Force to snatch up a Flesh Raider spear. She jabbed the spear directly into one creature’s gut. The other one recovered, and the Jedi Grandmaster and the Flesh Raider circled each other.

Caecinius focused on Bengel, parrying an attack, then pushing forward with his whole body, slashing and hacking as he charged.

This time, Bengel was forced back. Caecinius raised his lightsaber, slashed again with the full force of his anger.

He struck Bengel, who collapsed to the ground.

He looked over at Satele. Her duel with the Flesh Raider had been a short one. The creature had strength and cunning, but had been unable to match her skill. It lay in a heap at her feet.

Bengel Morr still lived. His breath came in rasps, his eyes staring at something in the distance that Caecinius could not see. For the first time, he could sense something of the young man from the training grounds.

Bengel laughed. “You beat me again,” he gasped. Pain flashed across his face. It was clearly agony for him to talk.

Caecinius fell to his knees at Bengel’s side, looked at the injury. A deep wound in the side of his chest.

“Hold on, Bengel,” he urged. 

He started to tap his wrist communicator, to call for help. Bengel’s hand closed over his own.

“No, old friend.” He coughed, then let out a small moan at the pain. “It is too late for that. I’ve done what I came for.” 

He grasped Caecinius’ hand, spoke urgently.

“You are strong – Stronger than any Jedi I have known. You can redeem the Order. Destroy the Sith.” Bengel’s eyes started to glaze over. “You are the reason The Force guided me here. You are the weapon I came to forge…”

Bengel’s eyes glazed over. Two more agonizing rasps came from his chest. Then his breathing ceased.

Caecinius reached out to close his old friends’ eyes. He felt Satele’s hand on his shoulder. She offered her hand, and Caecinius allowed her to help him to his feet. 

They didn’t speak. Any words they might say would be inadequate. They stood at the edge of the summit, looking out over the valley. Watching as dusk settled, and the last of the light faded from the sky.


	7. A Carefully Developed Stratagem

The man sat in his chambers on Dromund Kaas. During his earlier visit to the Secret Archives, he had placed a tap. Now he had full access to all of Imperial Intelligence’s files. It was those files he now reviewed.

His hand had not guided any of the events recounted here. Still, the turning of HAVOC Squad was an impressive feat. Republic morale would be crushed, and the schemes of Darth Baras and his Master, Darth Vengen, would grow all the more overt because of it. War was that little bit closer to becoming a reality.

He was less pleased by the disturbances on Tython. Those had only served to rouse the Jedi from their slumber, to put them on their guard. There were already signs they might emerge from their self-imposed exile: Orgus Din’s mission to Alderaan, Bella Kiwiks’ journey to Coruscant.

Still, if the Jedi re-emerged as a power unto themselves, that could be shaped to his purposes. He didn’t want the eventual war to be too one-sided, after all. His goal was to burn away the false Sith, to ensure that only the worthy were left standing, This would require a crucible. Perhaps the Jedi would help to light the flame.

He reviewed his plans. He had taken into account all the major players: Darth Baras and his soon-to-be apprentice; Satele Shan and the Jedi Council; Caecinius, the Jedi swordmaster; the Republic SIS; and the members of the Dark Council with their assorted schemes. Even allowing for the variables of random action and unpredictability, he felt confident that he could guide them to where he most needed them.

Everyone else was irrelevant. Individual pawns in a grand chess tournament, to be used and discarded at his pleasure. None of them could possibly disrupt his carefully developed stratagem.

***

The speeder trip back to Fort Garnik was actually fairly short, but to Mira it felt as if it lasted for hours. The company didn’t help. She kept having to stop Corso from using his wrist communicator.

“When was the last time you saw Viidu pick up his own call?” Mira snapped in exasperation. “Who do you think would receive that message? Who was it who stalled Rogun when he called earlier?”

She swore. One of the reasons she had liked Syreena was how smart she was, how much she had helped Viidu with business. Now those very qualities made her more dangerous.

The warehouse was empty when they reached it. Not a single hand manning the floor. The quiet made Mira uneasy. She drew her blaster, nodded to Corso.

They worked their way slowly to Viidu’s office, where they heard Syreena arguing with someone.

“You promised to get me out of here! I did everything for you, Skavak!”

Mira saw Skavak’s smug, tattooed face on the holoscreen. From the way his smirk grew just a bit broader, she knew that he had noticed her as well.

“You did it for the money, same as me,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “Only difference is, you ain’t getting paid. I’d say see you around, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Skavak ended the call. Syreena turned, saw Mira and Corso with their weapons drawn. She looked defeated, didn't even try to lie.

“Where is Viidu?” Mira asked. 

Syreena’s eyes flicked over to the bedroom. Corso went to look. When he came back, his expression was grim.

“I had no choice,” Syreena protested. “Rogun has sent bounty hunters. They have orders to take Viidu and you. And me.”

Mira recalled their conversation that morning, in which the thought of Rogun had made Syreena shudder. 

“I tried to warn Viidu, but he wouldn’t listen. He insisted you would make everything all right. So I sent the workers home. I took him into the bedroom, and…” She made a gesture. “I swear he never saw it coming.”

Mira glared darkly at her. Syreena saw the expression in her eyes, kept talking, trying to find the words to save her life.

“Skavak said he had some business to finish here, then he was going to go straight to Coruscant. The Republic has pushed the separatists off this island. They’re reopening the spaceports tomorrow. We can catch up with him. He’ll never know we’re coming!”

“We?” Mira asked.

Syreena turned to her.

“Please, Captain,” she said. She took a nervous step toward Mira, reaching out a hand like a religious supplicant. “I’m smart, and you know it. I’d be useful to you.” She added a nervous little smile to her repertoire. “You know these men. They never take us seriously. You and I, together? We could take over half the galaxy before they even noticed us.”

Mira lowered her blaster a bit, nodding slowly. Syreena’s smile grew more confident.

“You are smart,” Mira said, "and I really did like you.” Then she gave a tiny shake of her head. “But Viidu was my friend.”

Syreena turned as if to run. She didn't have time to move a single step. Mira raised her blaster, fired.

Corso looked appalled. “I was raised to tip my hat and open doors for ladies, not blast them!”

“ ‘Ladies?’ ” Mira repeated. 

She thought of Viidu. He had been exasperating at times, but he had also been as full of life as anyone she had ever known. Everything he had done had been in a big way, every gesture a grand one, every emotion fully felt. The galaxy already felt both smaller and colder without him.

“Don’t talk to me about ‘ladies,’ Corso,” she said. “Just... don’t talk, OK?”

Corso had the sense to remain silent as they left the warehouse. They separated immediately thereafter. Mira went in search of the base's cantina. She intended to get properly drunk – and she would raise her first glass to Viidu.

***

Canlyn and Ashara waited nervously outside the Council Chambers. They had been summoned to a 6 am session. Final deliberations were stretching out, however, and it was now 6:15.

“I’m sure it’ll be all right, Lyn,” Ashara said. “We didn’t really break any rules.”

Her voice was anything but confident, and Canlyn was not reassured. Still, she appreciated the gesture, and forced a smile for her friend.

Qyzen approached. He nodded to Ashara, then bowed to Canlyn.

“Qyzen?” Canlyn was startled by the gesture.

“Have come with well wishes, and an apology,” Qyzen said. 

“An apology? What for?”

“I spoke false,” Qyzen replied. “You are no ‘small hunter.’ To lose my points was horror. But I have prayed on this, and see clearly now. Scorekeeper sees all, and favors. She has led me through darkness to greater thing: You.”

Canlyn and Ashara exchanged a confused look.

“I don’t understand,” Canlyn said, as gently as she could.

“Scorekeeper has shown my path, to serve her Herald,” Qyzen said. “You. Wherever you need me, I will follow.”

Canlyn didn’t know what to say. 

“I cannot be this 'Herald' of yours,” she stammered. “I’m not Trandoshan. Your ways are not mine. I may soon not even be a Jedi.”

Qyzen shook his head firmly. “You have skill, strength, honor,” he replied. “More than I have seen in any other. I will follow.”

“The same goes for me,” Ashara said impulsively. “If they kick us out of the Order today, I’ll still follow you. Wherever you go.”

Canlyn didn’t know how to feel, whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she reached out, grasping Ashara’s hand in her left, Qyzen’s in her right.

“I am honored to know both of you,” she said.

She felt tears pricking at her eyes, and released her friends’ grip to wipe them away.

The doors to the Council Chamber opened, and she and Ashara were summoned inside.

Master Yuon waited inside the entrance on one side; Ashara’s Master, Ryen, on the other. Neither of the Masters spoke to their respective padawans, gesturing them to stand before the Council.

The Council members were still speaking as they approached. Canlyn and Ashara waited respectfully, both of them listening to gather up any extra scraps of news about recent events.

“The Flesh Raiders are still a threat,” Master Orgus insisted over the holoprojector.

Master Syo disagreed. “Without the leadership of Bengel Morr, they will be scattered and ill-equipped.”

“This Temple could have been devasted,” Grandmaster Shan said. “Master Caecinius believes Bengel Morr, Calief, the Flesh Raiders – all were able to take advantage of weaknesses in our defenses.”

“Master Caecinius often speaks that way,” Syo said calmly.

“In this case, I agree with him,” Satele replied. “I have ordered an increase in defensive patrols and a review of existing security protocols. We must not invite a second Coruscant.”

Master Orgus grunted his approval of this.

“What about the Twi’leks?” he asked.

Satele glanced at Canlyn, the first acknowledgement any of the Council had given to the two padawans. Then she looked around at the other Council members.

“We created instability by refusing to help them,” she said. “We came to Tython to reconnect with our origins and to regain our strength, but we have focused too much of our energies internally. I believe Matriarch Ranna is sincere in wanting to improve relations, and recent events show that we must do so. United, both of our communities will benefit. If we stay on our current path of division, further conflict will become inevitable.”

This time, Master Orgus’ grunt showed disapproval. Master Jaric also seemed unhappy with this decision. Still, nobody challenged her.

Satele turned back to Canlyn and Ashara. 

“Our apologies for keeping you waiting, Padawans,” she said.

“It’s my fault for being late,” Orgus complained. “Alderaanian nobles love their banquets almost as much as they love their speeches.”

Satele smiled lightly, but her eyes remained on the two young women.

“Canlyn Dessan,” she said, her tone growing formal, as if preparing to make a proclamation. “The Council has had a difficult deliberation. There is no question you were aiding Master Yuon, and acting at all times with her knowledge. However, you admit to acting against her wishes by proceeding to the Great Forge without waiting for assistance. You also forged your own lightsaber – an act that marks the end of a padawan’s training, and that by tradition is done only with the Master’s permission. You also state that you were not compelled by The Force to journey to The Forge.”

Canlyn bowed her head. “This is all correct, Grandmaster,” she said. She closed her eyes, waiting for her sentence.

“I don’t believe that is true.”

Canlyn looked up, startled by Satele’s statement.

“You state The Force did not compel you," Satele said. "But The Living Force does not act as a voice, calling to us from the sky. It weaves through us, working through people and shaping events to its will. Had you not been studying the holocrons of the original Masters, it would have taken hours to discover that Rjaivari’s recording had been stolen, if not days. Instead, you were able to recover it that very night. Rajivari’s recording led you to the Hilt of the First Blade, and Rajivari’s own Force Ghost directed you to the Great Forge. And you were compelled every step of the way by your own determination to rescue Nalen Raloch – an act of compassion, one of the most important qualities that should guide a Jedi.”

Canlyn stood frozen, barely comprehending as Satele stood and gestured to Master Yuon.

“Your every act,” Satele continued, “speaks of The Force working through you, guiding you. Compelling you to journey to The Forge, to create your own lightsaber. To save a man most would have considered lost – not by fighting, but by refusing to fight. Your journey speaks for itself, and this decree is made unanimously.”

Master Yuon stepped forward. She now smiled openly as she approached Canlyn.

“Before the Council,” Yuon said, her voice formal even as her face cracked in a broad grin, “I take from you the title of Padawan. I name you a full Jedi of our Order. Honor the past. Work for the future.”

Yuon bowed deeply. The Masters rose from their chairs and also bowed.

Canlyn swallowed, reminded herself to breathe. Nervously, she returned the bow.

“I am deeply honored,” she said.

Master Orgus grunted again.

“Just don’t let it go to your head,” he said. “You still have much to learn, young lady!”

Canlyn smiled at him. “I look forward to my future lessons, Master.”

Ashara beamed at her, made a “thumbs-up” gesture with her right hand.

“We do not yet have an assignment for you,” Satele told her. “So I would ask what your choice of tasks would be, until a mission presents itself.”

Canlyn thought for a moment. She looked at the Council members, at Ashara, then at Yuon.

“I would – If the Council deems it fitting,” she stammered. “I would like to continue my work with Master Yuon.” She glanced at Yuon. “If you will have me, that is.”

Satele grinned. “Given Master Yuon’s glowing statement on your behalf, I doubt that is in question.”

Yuon stepped forward, taking Canlyn’s hands in her own. “It would be my honor, Pad – Jedi Knight Dessan.”

The Council members sat again, their faces growing severe once more. When Satele turned to Ashara, there was no hint of her previous smile and all the warmth was gone from her eyes. Master Ryen glared openly at Ashara. Canlyn felt frightened all over again, this time on her friend’s behalf.

“Ashara Zavros,” Satele proclaimed. “You have engaged in deception by omission, actively hiding your activities and whereabouts from your Master. You knew he did not wish for you to leave the Temple grounds, yet you insisted on following Knight Dessan to the waterfall caves, then to Fount of Rajivari, and finally to the Forge. What drove you to these actions?”

Ashara’s orange face turned a shade paler. She struggled to find an adequate response.

“I – I wanted to help Canlyn,” she said.

Satele nodded. “As we expected.”

She looked over to Master Syo. Syo nodded, rose.

“The Jedi adhere to basic principles against attachments,” Syo said. “We all have friendships, and this is fine... to a point. But when a friendship becomes so intense that it causes one to ignore Jedi discipline, then it becomes dangerous. Passionate emotions, whether romantic or not, inevitably lead to suffering. Passions can destroy a person – and Jedi destroyed by passion become something terrible.”

Syo looked directly at Ashara as he made his pronouncement.

“By recommendation of Master Ryen, you will spend the next 48 hours confined to your quarters. Thereafter, you will be restricted to the grounds of the Jedi Outpost when not acting directly under his orders. This much has been ruled unanimously. Further, you are from this day on forbidden to have contact with Jedi Knight Canlyn Dessan. You will not speak with her. You will not communicate with her by holo. You will not write messages to her. This decision was not unanimous, but it remains binding. As of this day, your friendship is severed.”

Syo nodded to Master Ryen, who approached Ashara. He took her forcefully by the shoulder, pulled her away. Ashara looked back at Canlyn, her eyes reflecting a shock that mirrored Canlyn's own. Then Ryen and the guards surrounded the young Togruta, escorting her away to begin her confinement.

Satele looked sadly at Canlyn.

“It may seem harsh,” she said. “Ashara is very strong in The Force, gifted even. She could be a great Jedi. But not if she continues on her current path.”

Canlyn hesitated, bowed her head.

“As The Council decrees,” she said.

But she felt as if a lead weight had been forced down her throat and had settled in her stomach. 

***

Caecinius sat in the ruins of Kaleth, at the garden where he had spoken with Satele a few short weeks ago. He again attempted to meditate, this time making use of the technique Master Ryen so often assigned his padawans. He stacked a larger stone on top of a smaller one. Then added another, slightly larger rock to the top of the stack. Then another.

He willed his mind to clear. No thoughts, no emotions. 

_“There is no emotion, there is peace.”_

He spoke the words aloud, trying to make them true. 

All he saw was the Temple at Coruscant. The bodies. His Master, crumpling.

_“There is peace,”_ he repeated.

Bengel Morr’s face, grinning up at him from the training grounds. Bengel’s burned visage, as he gasped his final words.

_“You are the weapon I came here to Forge.”_

The inverted stack of rocks exploded, the individual stones scattering. Caecinius snatched one of the rocks out of the air before it could land. In his frustration, he hurled it as hard as he could against the Temple wall, then watched it bounce off the stone wall and into the grass.

He took a ragged breath, trying to steady himself. Closed his eyes, reached again for some level of inner peace.

He could not find it. All that he saw were corpses.

He opened his eyes and took in the ruins around him. How much of this destruction had been caused by time, and how much was a result of Rajivari’s ancient rebellion? How many lives had been claimed by that battle? Millennia had passed, but the violence remained the same.

_There is peace_ , the Jedi Order proclaimed. But if so, he could not find it.

Peace was a lie.

**NEXT: A MAP FOR THE FUTURE**


End file.
